


warm bodies

by capalxii



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capalxii/pseuds/capalxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Absolute fluff inspired by a. Twelve’s new costume and b. the fact that I think PCap looks like he gets cold easily. Could be Twelve & Clara or Twelve x Clara depending on how you tilt your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm bodies

There were a lot of layers involved in the Doctor’s clothes—thick layers, at that, and if the Doctor had noticed that Clara noticed, he didn’t say anything. But there were a lot of layers, and a wool coat, even on the planet that was nothing but warm beachfront, and one day in the TARDIS control room, Clara said, “You’re cold.”

The Doctor glowered up at her. The first time he’d done that, she’d been hurt, but she knew now it was a sign of affection. (He also glowers at the TARDIS with some regularity. And she once caught him glowering at a slice of pie before digging in with gusto. The wires got crossed with this one, and he seemed to glower at all the things he likes best, so she sees it as a point of pride when he glowers at her.) “I am not,” he said. He sounded very certain and flipped a very large switch on the console.

"Why are you wearing your coat when it’s so warm in here?" she asked, as innocently as she could. And it was warm. She was comfortable in a sleeveless dress, maybe even a little bit uncomfortable from the heat.

He glowered even harder and she bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smirk. “If I weren’t wearing it,” he said, the brogue of his voice getting thicker with each word, “I’d have to put it down.”

"Well…yes." Clara looked at him like he was a child complaining about water being wet. "That’s what you do when you take off your coat. You put it down."

"I-" The Doctor huffed and threw some more levers at random. Clara leaned against a railing and crossed her arms, the smirk she’d been holding back growing into a full grin; when she got under his skin, he’d do this, forgetting what he was doing and sending them who knows where. It was how they ended up on the planet of shrimp, that one time. They hadn’t planned on it. He’d just…thrown some switches, and then they were there. "Clara Oswald, I am not now nor have I ever been cold. I do not get cold. The cold and I are close friends, and as such, it does me no harm."

The TARDIS landed and the Doctor bounded around to the viewscreen. His jaw clenched as he stared—not glowered—at the sight before him. Clara came to stand next to him and saw nothing but white, pure snow. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “Go outside and say hi to your friend?”

He stalked away to throw as many levers and twist as many knobs as the TARDIS would allow.

*

She didn’t usually wander the halls of the TARDIS, especially at night (and especially after the time the TARDIS moved her bedroom just to annoy her) (“that time” might have happened more than once), but Clara found herself a bit restless and needed a walk. If the old cow moved her bedroom again, she’d just bunk down in whatever comfortable room she found herself in.

Eventually, she made her way back to her room, gave the wall outside her door a pat as if to thank the ship for not messing with her that night, and opened the door. Except it wasn’t her room, was it? It certainly didn’t look like it, done up with dark colors on the wall and dark furniture. A lamp was on by the bed, and she could make out a mound of blankets—

Ah. A shivering mound of blankets. “Doctor?” she called out, concerned but still standing hesitantly at the door. “Sorry, your dumb ship moved my bedroom again. Are you all right?”

“‘m fine,” he mumbled from under the covers. She could almost hear his teeth chattering. “Go on back to bed, sure you’ll find your room soon enough.”

"You’re not that fine," she said, her voice trailing off. The realization hit her that maybe the TARDIS wasn’t dumb after all, and that she’d wanted Clara to go to the Doctor. "Are you seriously that cold? It’s warm in here. Do you need a-" She cringed, knowing that even if he did need a doctor, there probably wasn’t one anywhere in this universe knowledgeable enough in Gallifreyan biology that they could just pop off to. "Do you need help?"

She heard him sigh, then saw his head come up from under the blankets. His hair was sticking up wildly and at any other moment she might find it funny (or cute, if she were being honest with herself). But he looked miserable. “It’s just the regeneration,” he said, his breath shaky with cold. “It—this body hasn’t quite gotten the hang of regulating temperature yet. It happens. It’ll pass.”

With a frown, she stepped further into his room. “It’s been a while since you’ve changed, and it hasn’t passed yet.”

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, well. It does take some time. The whole thing’s reconfiguring. It’s a hard reboot, sometimes there are errors to sort through.”

She took another step towards him. “Is there something I can do to help? Some tea, maybe?”

"No, I don’t think so." She hadn’t known this one very long, but she could still tell when he was holding back. He smiled an unconvincingly tight smile. "Don’t concern yourself. I’ll be fine."

With a look half-skeptical and half worried, she said, “Yeah, and until then you’ll be freezing yourself to death.” She sat at the edge of his bed and pushed the covers back enough to reach for his hands. They were icy, but she deliberately didn’t flinch away. “Come on. What can I do?”

The Doctor didn’t respond; instead, he was staring almost woozily at her hands holding his. “You’re quite warm, aren’t you?” His voice sounded distant, as though he had neither meant to say that out loud nor had he realized he’d said it out loud.

"That’s it, shove over," she said, pushing him down and burrowing in under the blankets with him.

"What-" He backed away and glowered at her. She cheered mentally. "No. Clara, I’ll be fine."

"You are a block of ice, and if I can help, then I will." She hesitated, not wanting to force herself into his space, but wanting him to know why she wasn’t leaving yet. "If you really want me to leave, I’ll go, but I think the TARDIS wanted me here."

He was quiet for a long while, his face hidden in shadows, before moving back next to her. “She knows that if I have a warm body next to me, I’ll learn to regulate my temperature quicker.”

"Oh, good, I could be any old warm body," she said, mockingly dramatic. She turned the bedside lamp off and settled in. "Nothing special about me, then."

He went quiet again for another long moment before shifting just a touch closer to her. She nearly didn’t notice, except the sheets moved against her skin. “There’s quite a lot special about you, actually. I just didn’t want to take advantage.”

He’d sounded as though it had been difficult to form the words in his mouth. Clara was sure that he was glowering at her in the darkness. Turning on her side, she kissed his forehead and said, “Good night, Doctor. Try to warm up a little.”

The Doctor cleared his throat self-consciously. “Yes. Good night, Clara.”

They slept happily ever after (until the TARDIS crashed landed and they had to save the universe again).


End file.
